


Red

by Mellow_62



Category: Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22951339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellow_62/pseuds/Mellow_62
Summary: Troubled by gay rumours, Jake Gyllenhaal's publicist took the classic solution, a fake romance. Little does Jake know that this particular relationship will transpire into something much greater than he anticipated, one that require him to make the most difficult choice in his life.
Relationships: Jake Gyllenhaal/Taylor Swift
Kudos: 3





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a number of Taylor Swift songs from her fourth studio album, Red, this fan fiction is loosely based on real-life events.

## Prologue

I stood in front of my record player, pulled out a jazz record and dropped the needle.

I close my eyes, drowning myself in the smooth saxophone beats. The slow, endearing melody echoes all through the living room as the aroma of fresh coffee washes over me from the French drip pot on the counter. Leaves on the maple tree have just begun to turn red as I take in the sight of my yard through the glass door. The first fall breezes whiffle past, sending light chills up my spine.

There it is, the perfect harmony of autumn. Moments like this are what keep me at bay through my hectic life.

The front door opens abruptly, revealing my trusty publicist who shows zero remorse for ruthlessly disturbing my moment of peace. Kat has been a close friend of mine since elementary school so I entrusted her with a key. Her constant trespassing, however, made me start questioning that decision. Seeing her slightly tousled choppy bob makes me realise I have, yet again, gotten myself into some sort trouble.

Kat tosses a magazine onto my coffee table. I recognise from the flashy, bedazzled cover that it’s the _Hollywood Mail_ , best known for jarring celebrity exposés based off little substance. It’s astonishing to me that people would believe anything coming out from Leo Thomas, the editor-in-chief.

A blurry snap of myself with another guy took up most of the front page. The striking caption reads “Jake Gyllenhaal’s secret romantic rendezvous with beau exposed!!” I wince at the image. My blood run cold as a mixture of contempt, feebleness and cold fury fluster from my stomach.

I ran into my high school buddy Matt at a bar the other day and shared a few drinks. Yes, there might have been some friendly embraces involved, none of which meant anything above friendship.

It has been years since I played the homosexual cowboy in _Brokeback Mountain_ yet the gay rumours never really subsided. It’s one of those things that finds its way to haunt me once in a while.

Though I myself can’t care less what the press has to say about my sexuality, these can end up destroying my reputation. I sigh and mutter “What do I do?”.

Contrary to my pained expression, Kat gives me her signature winning grin as she flips through her colour-coded heavyweight binder until she found her favourite section—Red, much to my disdain.

“Another fake relationship?” I moaned.

“You do realise you’re breaking the hearts of millions of menopausal housewives across the country right? The church groups all hate you now.”

“But you know what I want, Kat. I can’t spend all my time fake-dating for publicity. I _want_ someone. Someone to settle down with—I…” My voice breaks as my mind flashes back to my previous relationships.

My rise to fame has come at a price of solitude. It’s been difficult finding someone I feel connected to, and spending time on fake relationships certainly doesn’t help finding me a right match.

Kat merely shrug. I know I have no other choice. The press is a lot like ferocious beasts. There’s no stopping them from biting off your arms unless you keep them well-fed.

I glance over at the giant binder, wondering who my next planned love interest is.

There’s a picture.

Taylor Swift. Nashville’s new favourite girl. She’s wearing her classic red lip look. Her wavy blonde hair casually drapes over an acoustic guitar. I haven’t paid much attention to her music.

She’s pretty, attractive even. None of it really mattered anyway.

“I’m doing this for the very time, OK?” I told Kat. As soon as the words come out of my mouth, the déjà vu caught on to me. Gosh, it must have been the fifth or sixth time I said that.

“I’ve emailed her team. We’ll meet her Wednesday night to go over the specifics. I’ve cleared the evening for you.” Kat says as she walks out after giving me a slight pat on the back. Watching me suffer isn’t exactly delightful to her either.

The music’s still playing, the view ravishing as ever but my mind is somewhere else. What I found soothing just minutes ago couldn’t assuage my feelings of unease and honestly, a little guilt.

I buried my head in my hands as I let out a long sigh. Once in the business, we all need to play by its rules.

So much for the perfect September afternoon.


End file.
